


responsibility to hold and protect (atlas had it easy)

by cut_the_wire05



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, OCD, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25725751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cut_the_wire05/pseuds/cut_the_wire05
Summary: From a young age, Peter Parker knows that certain numbers are bad, certain ones are good. And it only evolves through his life to show him the dangers of existence and the measures needed to prevent disaster. It hurts sometimes, the constant vigilance and anxiety, but with a threat too abstract and terrible to describe, Peter knows he needs to make sacrifices.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work about Peter Parker having OCD as well as other mental illness because I'm totally not projecting and wishing there were more depictions of this disorder. Also, a heaping helping of Irondad to fulfill my internal fantasies of the ideal way for a parental figure to respond to mental illness. This is my first work, bear with me please loves!
> 
> NOTES:  
> Ben dies when Peter's eleven, I wanted the grief to have been a part of Peter's life to the point of just being ingrained in everything. Also, the "with great power comes great responsibility" is delivered in a much different light here.
> 
> Also, I'm not totally sure what a posting schedule will look like because I've got a whole bunch of mental illness stuff being kind of intense right now, but I'm aiming for once a week.

Peter Benjamin Parker was six years old when his parents went off on vacation and never came back. 

Even before that time, Peter had known he had a strong dislike of the number six and that the number five was quantifiably better than all other numbers (the multiples never end in six or an even integer). However, when, at the age of six, on the sixth of November, at six-thirty-six in the evening Aunt May and Uncle Ben informed him that ‘mommy and daddy aren’t coming back’, he knew his views were confirmed. He started avoiding six and all multiples of six like the plague more than ever before. He wasn’t sure why, but he never wanted to tell anyone about it. They wouldn’t understand the danger, he’d mentioned it offhand a few times to his parents before he realized the degree of peril the number caused, and they’d never gotten it. Plus also, he was pretty sure he was part of the curse that had ended in his parents’ deaths because his age was one of the bad numbers. He was just glad he wasn’t the age after seventeen, because that was one of the worst of all and he wasn’t sure what sort of havoc he could have wreaked. 

A couple of months after his weekend stay with May and Ben had turned into a permanent residence, Peter caught a very strong strain of the flu. At first it was just unpleasant and uncomfortable, but soon he realized the severity of what he had started. First, Ben got sick. He had to take two days off work because he was so tired and weak and his head swam every time he stood up. Then, on the second day of Ben staying home, May caught the bug as well. She had to stay home for six days (badbadbadbadbad). After getting better enough to do some serious thinking, Peter realized he would have to start being much more careful with his health. No more baths (they’re basically like sitting in a pool of your own filth); showers needed to be very thorough (he’d scrub so hard he’d sometimes bleed); hand washing became much more ritualized and frequent (at least ten times after using the bathroom, with five pumps of soap per each wash); hand sanitizer was a must whenever he could get some, and wet wipes or baby wipes were constantly within easy reach. Again, he did everything he could to hide this from people. He was worried they’d be offended, that maybe they’d think he was grossed out by them. Well, he kind of was, but not in a rude way. He just needed to keep people safe.

Things continued with a pretty consistency of routine for him for the next few years. Sometimes he’d realize he’d been doing something wrong and he’d have to start a new routine. Like when he learned that he needed to be much more careful about the number of times he did things. Switching the light on or off needed to be five sets of on-off or vice versa. He had a stutter that only got worse because he’d have to make sure he said the same start of a word five times, with the same inflection and emphasis on syllables and such before he could move on to the rest of what he was saying. If he messed up on, say, the third repetition of ‘good-night’ he’d have to take that as the first time repeating the new set of guh’s and then go back and finish the last three of the first pronunciation. Luckily, that was easily passed off as just an anxious stutter. He didn’t really have any friends because he was too busy, he had important duties to perform to ensure the safety of humanity. So people naturally assumed that he just had difficulty with communication and connection with others.

By age eleven (not a great number, but it is a prime number) he was almost numb to his constant state of anxiety. Sure, sometimes it sucked when he was trying to think and he couldn’t stop counting his blinks or the number of times he inhaled and exhaled, but he was handling it. He only had those weird moments where he was pretty sure he was dying since he couldn’t breathe and his chest hurt and his head swam and it felt like there would only be pain for the rest of his life about five out of seven days a week. (He kind of wished it could be the full seven though, because five plus seven was twelve and that was most assuredly not a good number) But in June (definitely bad with regards to its placement in the calendar year), Ben died.

______________________________

Peter had been walking home from the bodega down the street, but it was taking him a while since he was making sure not to step on any cracks. He didn’t have a real mom anymore but he wasn’t taking any chances with May. He wasn’t usually the one to go to run any errands, but as often as he could he’d go and buy the largest bottle of hand sanitizer he could find at one of the nearby stores. Without him noticing it, it had gotten very late and the light was pretty much completely faded, leaving only the illumination from the sporadically functioning street lamps. 

Little did either of them know, Ben was currently walking down the street towards Peter. He had left the house about twenty minutes before once he and May had decided it was definitely time to search for Peter. Peter would for years after that day spend several hours a day trying to think his way out of the situation and look for a solution that could have saved his uncle. As it was, just a few hundred feet away from where Peter was with his gaze fixed towards the ground, Uncle Ben had just seen a man snatch a woman’s purse and hightail it in the opposite direction. With the instincts ingrained in him from his years on the force, Ben reached out and caught the man’s arm. The next few moments went by in the blink of an eye, nothing like the movies where it seems that time slows down. The man reached into his pocket, whipped out a gun, and shot Ben in the chest. Ben’s grip went slack and he sunk to the ground.

Peter had immediately looked up at the gunshot. A man was bleeding on the ground, a figure in a grey hoodie darting down an alleyway just behind him. The injured man was unmoving, and in the dazed state that came with such an unexpected event, Peter noted that he was wearing a similar tan sweater to one Uncle Ben owned. Subconsciously, Peter had been moving towards the figure, cracks forgotten beneath his feet that felt strangely detached from his body. 

‘Funny,’ Peter thought. ‘He also has Uncle Ben’s curly hair. And beat up tennis shoes. And… ‘ 

Peter was running before his mind even caught up to reality. In a flash he was kneeling beside his uncle, his father figure, in a steadily growing pool of his blood. Dimly, Peter heard someone sobbing. He vaguely felt the sounds might be coming from him. 

“Uncle Ben! Ben—” Peter cut himself off with a choking noise as his throat constricted. This was so much worse than all those times before when he’d gasp for air as he tried to sob silently during the night. He thought he’d known the worst pain he would ever experience. It paled in comparison to kneeling beside his uncle, jeans soaking up the coppery scented blood, as he raised shaking hands and pressed them to Ben’s chest.

“Pe..Pete...Peter. Listen…” Ben coughed, blood bubbling up behind his lips. He swallowed roughly. “It’s okay. Okay? It’s going to be alright. Make sure you watch out for May, she...she’s gonna need you, kid.” 

Peter stopped breathing at that. “No, no, no! Ben, you’re okay! You’re going to be fine, I just gotta…just gotta…” he trailed off, looking up for the first time and seeing pedestrians gathered around, staring at the horrifying scene. “Someone call an ambulance!” The crowd gazed blankly for a second, then several people pulled out their phones.

Peter felt a hand coated in a sticky liquid latch onto his wrist. He snapped his gaze back to Ben. 

With a wan smile, Ben spoke in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible. “I love you so much, you know that, bud? And I’m leaving you to...to watch over May. She’s sometimes stubborn, but you’ve got a-a skill for wrapping her around your little finger. So,” and here he grinned a bit wider, “with great power… comes gr-great responsibility… “ Ben’s voice trailed off, his chest heaved once… twice, he gave a great shuddering gasp, then was still. 

After a moment that seemed to last eons, but was really only seconds; a moment filled with Ben’s unseeing eyes reflecting the street lamps that gave the scene a sickly, yellow glow, Peter screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a disclaimer: 
> 
> Obviously, Peter is a high school student and so has a high school experience as part of his day to day life. I only attended one "full" year of public high school and even that was interrupted with multiple hospitalizations. So, I am definitely not the best source for an accurate depiction of a teenager's life. So some things might be totally inaccurate and I deeply apologize. I just don't really know how people in general interact with other people, much less teenagers with other people their age. 
> 
> Constructive advice on that subject and any other relationships/interactions that are just super implausible is totally welcome.
> 
> Also, there will be no cursing. I don't curse, I also don't care about other people cursing, but some people have gotten upset when I write things where characters who typically curse don't. I know it's a bit unrealistic, but that's why Tony freaking Stark is going to say dang and heck :/
> 
> Lots of love wonderful humans!
> 
> Slight edit:  
> I just realized I never specifically said that I have OCD and that most of Peter's symptoms are ones I've personally experienced or still experience. Along with the depiction of his other mental illnesses. So, I've had people say (not about this work, just in general) that descriptions of OCD are inaccurate but this really isn't. And I'm just an anxious, paranoid, self conscious mess who felt the need to clarify this :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter could feel himself becoming lost in the abyss of anxiety. The room around him dimmed as a vignette seemed to form in his vision.
> 
> “Please—” Peter found himself pleading with the open air, knowing on an intellectual level that no one was around and that further still, no one could help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, this is obviously not coming out even remotely close to a week away from the first chapter. I had it ready and seeing that people read my work is about the extent of the human contact I'm getting, so why the heck not?
> 
> Some notes:   
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR SCENE OF SELF HARM
> 
> I got rid of Ned from the story, which doesn't come up in this chapter but will be apparent in the next. I love his character, but this work is a total vent fic for me and so I make Peter suffer. 
> 
> Peter is still fifteen in this story because I have absolutely no context for when a homecoming dance may take place, but I'm pretending it was in mid-March so Peter's still in his sophomore year. And I started school with an August birthday that meant I was almost always about a year younger than my classmates, depending on where I was living. And again, totally projecting with this work so we're having all the break downs on a similar timeline to my own.
> 
> Also, the third chapter is basically completely written so it might come out super soon, honestly. I made a structure for myself to only post a chapter once the next one is at least three quarters finished, so I'm feeling like there's probably going to be a pretty sporadic posting schedule. I'm super bad about time deadlines and restrictions. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter was fine. He was doing great. He had to be; he’d just gotten an offer to join the avengers from the best of them all, Tony Stark! And this was even after he’d had to drop out of the airport battle, and almost destroyed the ferry, and lost the suit, and got the building dropped on him, and any of the other glaringly obvious reasons he did not deserve to be a superhero. He felt like he should maybe point them out, afterall, people hadn’t been noticing his defects clearly for his whole life, but the horribly selfish part of him just wanted the connection to Mister Stark and a persona he wished he could embody. At least he’d known not to accept the offer. But he’d have a new mentorship-ish… thing!

The sound of Happy blaring the horn jerked Peter from his thoughts. His hand paused for a minute from clasping and re-clasping around the door handle. He’d done something wrong when pulling it closed and needed to fix it soon, because they were only about ten minutes from his apartment and it’d look weird if he lingered in the back seat. 

“Idiot! Idiots, complete idio— the hell?” Happy swore as a car cut him off. Peter winced at the volume, his senses were definitely in overdrive after everything that had happened that day. 

In addition to the offer from Mister Stark, he’d had a rough start to the day with having to get up and down for his bed over and over for forty-five minutes until he knew he’d done it right. Good thing he’d managed to get up to his three-thirty alarm instead of sleeping in because he’d actually still managed to make it to school on time. But even still, there had been an hour and a half spent on showering (with cold water, which meant more scrubbing but wasn’t wasteful and a burden on May). He’d also had to deal with the fact that he’d begun to bleed from the scrubbing and the irritation of his clothes on raw skin as well as the slowly closing slits near the joint of his left forearm. The constant prickly sensation combined with the spike in his anxiety levels for the day meant that by this time in the evening, every sensation, all the input he experienced, was beyond level ten. 

Happy glanced in the rearview mirror as he merged and his gaze passed over Peter. Half a second later he did a double take, looking more intently at the boy pressed up against the door. “You okay, kid? Tony’ll have my head if you’re sick or something and I don’t notice.” Despite his flippant manner, the flushed color of Peter’s cheeks and sweat he could see breaking out on the boy’s brow stirred up feelings of worry in Happy’s chest. Glancing away from the road at the end of his statement, Happy saw that Peter was sitting ramrod straight, looking completely startled. 

Peter gasped out, “Uh, yeah. Y-y-y-y-yeah. I’m fine.” Happy internally winced at the timid tone of voice and persistent stutter. Sure, he’d not been super nice to the kid at first, but he’d not known Peter was this nervous around him. 

“Good.” With one last backwards look, Happy refocused on the road. They were driving down a residential street now, and were pulling up to the Parker’s apartment building. Happy parked alongside the curb and as he was stepping out and making his way around to pull open the rear door for his passenger, Peter hurriedly sped up on gripping the handle. 

‘...one thousand twenty five…’ Peter let go of the handle the final time just as the door opened. Breathing an entirely internal and silent sigh of relief, Peter hopped out and onto the sidewalk. 

“Thanks, Happy.” He tossed a smile towards the other man that even he could feel was weak. Happy only looked at him with an expression strangely like concern. Peter tried to stop tapping his foot and make his fidgeting with his jacket sleeves less noticeable. 

“No problem.” Happy paused for a second, moved as if he was going to clasp Peter’s shoulder, then formed his hand into a fist and swung it by his sind a couple times. “Listen, Tony’s got your back, he’s going to be contacting you more directly now. But, um, look… I know… I mean,” he stammered. Peter was distantly surprised to hear Happy sounding so unsure of himself and wondered if he should interrupt, but Happy finally spit out what he was meaning to say. “I- uh, I dropped the ball with the Vulture guy. I’m… sorry. You’ve got me to call and stuff still. Don’t think you can’t just ‘cause of the whole thing with Tony. I’ll answer.” Looking extremely uncomfortable, he turned and walked back around to the opposite side of the car. With a miniscule jerk of the head that might’ve been considered a nod, Happy slid in the car and drove off. 

Peter stood still for a moment longer, processing the fact that Happy had apologized to him. The head of Stark Industries’ security had apologized to Peter Parker. For doing nothing wrong except listen to the natural instinct to dismiss Peter Parker for his general ineptitude and unimportance. Shaking his head as if to throw off the confusing thoughts, Peter turned towards the apartment building steps and made his way inside. 

As he did every time he walked up them, Peter thanked everything good in the world that there were five steps. He headed to the elevator and punched the up button with his elbow, and then the button for floor three with the same technique. It headed up with a slightly disturbing groaning noise, and Peter exhaled through his nose, pushing down the feeling of anxiety that was rising in him at the enclosed space. When the elevator arrived, Peter dashed out and made his way to the apartment door on shaky legs. He inserted his key with shaky hands and turned it back and forth in the lock for the initial five sets, then repeated them once before twisting the knob and stepping in. The sweet floral scents from the perfumes, air fresheners, and candles Aunt May preferred washed over him. Peter felt a small amount of the tension in his body ease. 

“Aunt May?” He called. When he got no answer, Peter headed into the kitchen and looked around. On the table, under a plate with some cookies on it, a scrap of paper with a hastily scribbled note on it sat. Nudging the plate aside, Peter picked up the paper. 

Peter, got called in for an extra shift today, one of the other nurses came down with something. I won’t be back till late, so order something for dinner. I left a twenty on my dresser. And the cookies are a new recipe, it’s got carrot shavings and raisins, kinda carrot cake/oatmeal cookie-esque. Larb you! -May

Peter chuckled before picking up a cookie and cautiously nibbling on it. It actually wasn’t the worst culinary concoction his aunt had whipped up, so he continued eating it as he made his way to his bedroom. With a plan in mind only to crack down on his homework and then relax the rest of the day, Peter almost didn’t notice the paper bag on his bed when he walked in. 

“What the…” Peter breathed. Shoving the last bite of cookie in his mouth, he walked over and carefully pulled the top of the bag open. A strange feeling settled on him as he pulled out the suit. He felt that he should be nothing but thrilled, this was a dream outcome of all the disasters of the past few weeks. However, the happy feelings were slowly becoming more and more choked by shame and self loathing. He’d failed so much, could he really ever be worthy of Spider-Man again? In addition, despite the suit looking nothing like the pathetic costume he’d worn homecoming night, the blue and red colors were pushing memories to the forefront of his mind that he’d rather continue keeping buried, thank you very much. Breathing hard, Peter shoved the suit in the bag and under his bed. He ran his hands down his face and tried to focus on his surroundings rather than follow the spiral his emotions were taking. 

By this point, Peter knew that this hellish experience he dealt with most days a week was a panic attack. He had learned some coping skills from the internet, as well as some tips to deal with what he now thought he recognized as OCD and depression that plagued him in cohorts with the anxiety. However, Peter also knew that if experience was anything to go by, he’d not be able to fully pull himself out of this one. With the heightened intensity of his senses today and the factors of more excessive obsessive behaviors that day, Peter could feel himself becoming lost in the abyss of anxiety. The room around him dimmed as a vignette seemed to form in his vision. His chest ached from the rapidity and shallowness of his breaths and he found himself clutching at it. With a sudden weakening of his muscles, Peter found himself collapsing on the floor. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and Peter was sure he was dying. Was sure that this was how his life would end, or at least that his happiness and any hope of peace were being destroyed in this moment. His cheek was pressing into the threads of his carpet, surely creating an odd pattern in the skin. 

“Please—” Peter found himself pleading with the open air, knowing on an intellectual level that no one was around and that further still, no one could help him. However, a primal urge within him caused him to softly cry out for some form of escape or comfort. He wrenched his eyes open (when had he shut them?) and darted his gaze wildly around the room, not sure what he was looking for. Then he saw, under his bed, an old red pencil case. Even as he merely reached for the pouch, Peter felt a small semblance of control returning to his mind. With hands that shook with sharp, jerky movements, Peter snatched the pencil case and yanked the zipper back. A few bandages fell out, some gauze and tape, and then a grey handled utility knife. 

Peter choked on a particularly wet sob and hurriedly rolled back his left sleeve, then slid out the blade of the knife. Without pausing, Peter brought the cold metal to the back of his arm and dragged it over the skin. He was still feeling numb and detached from his body, so he dug fairly deep with each stroke. As more and more blood bubbled up from his cut, Peter felt his breathing slow and even out. When his vision finally cleared and he stopped feeling as if death was quite so imminent, Peter scrabbled for a gauze pad and ripped open the packaging, pressing the cloth to the decently deep cut. With only a slight wince, he taped down the bandage and went about the process of cleaning the knife and putting everything away mechanically. 

After cleaning excess blood off his arm with a wet wipe and getting the pencil case back in order, Peter leant down to rehide the case under his bed. As he did so, he glimpsed the paper sack. Quickly averting his eyes, Peter straightened up and went to his desk where he sat down, grabbed his backpack, and pulled out his chemistry assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just blown away by the fact that so many people read this, or at least opened it! I'm pretty sure that's what hits mean? I'm technologically illiterate. But seriously, last I checked I saw FIVE kudos! That literally made my day. I literally laughed out loud. I'm pretty sure I almost cried. At risk of sounding super sappy and like an attention whore, that little bit of... human interaction?? was so so awesome. All you lovely humans, I hope you're doing well and I'm wishing all the best for you! Just existing in the world right now means you're all rock stars. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter couldn’t help drawing his arms tightly across his chest in a weird self-hug, grasping just behind his shoulders with a desperate strength, like he could hold himself together even if he was falling apart. His eyes were downcast and he found himself mentally walking through every possible scenario he could think of for when he got to Mister Stark’s lab. Hopefully something would go alright for him today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I couldn't sleep all night so I wrote like two chapters, almost three. Hopefully the sleep deprivation didn't affect the quality. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> Bullying/physical bullying  
> Toxic language in regards to mental illness  
> Use of slut-shaming slur in bullying  
> Passive suicidal thoughts
> 
> Please please please do not read if it will be detrimental to your health loves!

“Hey.” Peter straightened up from how he’d been sitting, hunched over the cafeteria table, his uneaten lunch pushed to the side, still in the paper sack he’d brought it in. The violence of his sudden movement almost caused him to fall backwards off the bench but he latched his hands around the edge of the table at the last second. Huffing out an irritated breath, Peter glanced across to where Michelle sat, surprised to see her closer down the table.

“Uh, hi?” Peter managed to make the greeting sound like a question. 

With an odd hesitancy, Michelle gave a tiny smile. “You mind if I scootch?” As she said this, she had raised slightly from the bench and moved even closer, not committing to sitting down yet. 

“Of-of-of-of-of course!” Though he cursed himself for doing so, Peter couldn’t help the noticeable tone of happiness in his voice. Michelle sat and grinned wider. “Peter! I mean, um, my name. Peter. That’s my name…” Peter trailed off lamely.

“I know. Parker, right? I’m not a stalker, just observant.” Michelle seemed nervous. “I’m—” 

“Michelle. Um, also observant.” Peter flushed. ‘That was weird, idiot. Creepy. Why’re you just the worst? You do nothing but screw everything up. Can’t even carry a conversation. Absolutely hopeless. You know, now she’s going to stop sitting at your table even. If you wanted to be less worthless, you could kill yourself. People care when other people are dead. It’s a solution, just saying.’ 

“What up, Penis? Talking to yourself again, psycho?” For the second time, Peter jerked back. Flash was standing by the table, smirking. Peter hadn’t realized he’d been mouthing along to that stupid, horrible, truthful voice in his head.

“Not… t-t-t-t-talking. Thinking, uh, thinking y’know, like, out loud.” Peter mumbled. He spared a sideways glance at Michelle, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her focus was on Flash and she was glaring. 

Flash scoffed and placed his hands palm down on the table and leaned his weight on them, getting fairly close to Peter’s face, his smile was shark-like at this point. His breath smelled like mouthwash and cigarettes and Peter felt his throat close up as he instantly spiraled into fear over lung cancer, it was improbably secondhand smoking could be applied to smelling cigarette smoke on breath, but who knew? 

“Hey Thompson, I know the idea of thinking is totally foreign to you, but those of us whose brains aren’t just globs of oatmeal think all the time.” Michelle spit the harsh words at Flash. “Maybe instead of using elementary insults on Peter, you could try to think up something that doesn’t make you sound like you haven’t developed any new vocabulary beyond middle school.” 

Flash had turned almost purple in anger and sneered at Michelle before turning to Peter again. “Well, you got someone to fight your battles for you. How’d you get the pity? I’m thinking you probably used the dead uncle since it’s recent. Maybe the parents, but even a dumb whore would know you should be over that by now. Is there someone more recent who died to get away from you? How’s your aunt?” 

Peter couldn’t have responded even if he’d wanted to. And he really, really didn’t want to. Flash hadn’t breathed during the whole thing and his chest was heaving. He looked a second away from sending a punch to Peter’s face. Peter could hear Michelle almost growling in anger and speaking to Flash, but Peter’s mind had gone blank. He stumbled to his feet and almost tripped over the bench. Flash was laughing as Peter raced out of the lunchroom, through the halls, and out the back door of the school. He barely managed to sit down against one of the brick walls before all conscious functioning was lost. Peter had no way of knowing how long it had been before he heard a door being pushed open, steps coming towards him, and felt a blunt pain in his side as Flash kicked him. The sun was behind him and his face was in shadow, only his malicious scowl entirely recognizable.

“Wow, more pathetic than I thought, Penis. I didn’t realize you couldn’t even handle the truth about yourself. You’re a disease. And completely weak, you can’t even look up.” Peter had squeezed his eyes shut, so he didn’t see the fist heading for him. It caught him on the cheek and his eyes flew open in surprise. He only glimpsed Flash before the onslaught started. 

Blows kept coming and while, in reality, it only lasted a few minutes, Peter felt like it had been hours before Flash stopped attacking. It ended with one last kick to the ribs and Peter heard the sounds of Flash heading back into the school. He unwrapped his arms from around his head and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Luckily, as soon as he’d gotten outside Peter had wrapped his jacket sleeves around his hands so he’d not touched the ground or anything on it. He wasn’t sure how he would have been able to wash his hands because he certainly couldn’t go inside the school and while he had fortunately had his backpack over his shoulder when he left the cafeteria, Peter wouldn’t have wanted to touch the zipper to get hand sanitizer. That would just mean his hands would be recontaminated anytime he touched it. Peter grabbed his phone from the front pocket of the bag. The time read two-ten. School got out in five minutes so when he peeled himself off the ground, Peter headed around the side of the building rather than walking through. Plus, he could feel a black eye forming and a pain in his left shin was causing a limp. 

Peter had his gaze on the ground and had pulled up the hood of his jacket, so he was completely unaware of everything around him. When he heard a horn honking, Peter didn’t even react, this was New York after all. He only looked up when he heard his name. 

“Peter! Get over here.” It was Happy, and he sounded annoyed. His car was alongside the curb and he was waving at Peter from where he stood by it. 

“Sorry, didn’t see you,” said Peter as he neared Happy. 

“It’s fine, I didn’t expect you yet. Why’re you out early? I’m taking you to the tower, Tony’s—” Happy cut himself off with a gasp. A hand reached out and yanked Peter’s hood off. “What happened? Who the heck did this?” 

Peter didn’t reply to that immediately, instead saying tiredly, “Why am I going to the compound?” 

“The internship starts today. Remember?” Peter did now that it had been brought up. It had been last Tuesday that he’d seen Mister Stark and by Friday he’d lost track of the fact that he’d be working with Iron Man on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Thinking of that now, Peter noticed another confusing thing about Happy’s statement.

“The tower?” His question actually got Happy to smile as he gestured for Peter to get in the car, seeming to drop the topic of Peter’s beat up face for now. After Happy had settled in the driver’s seat and buckled in, he turned to look at Peter in the back seat. 

“He pulled out of the deal to sell it. Actually, it’d been sold and Tony paid the buyers twice as much as he’d asked for it. The guys couldn’t really say now to that. And it doesn’t hurt that Tony can be the most annoying person on the planet when he wants something and tries to get you to agree.” 

“What, why? Why’d he decide not to sell it? And waste money on repurchasing his own building?” 

Happy had pulled out of the school parking lot and was focused on the road when he responded. 

“Honestly, he’d hate for me to tell you this, but he wanted to be closer to a certain accident prone spider-boy.”

Silence fell in the care as Peter digested what he’d heard. It couldn’t be true. He was sure Mister Stark didn’t keep the tower just for Peter’s sake. And if his decision did have to do with Peter, it was surely out of a sense of obligation. If Peter died, it would be on him. He definitely didn’t, and shouldn’t, care about Peter. 

“And he’s definitely not going to let it slide that your face looks like you just did a round with the Hulk.” Happy’s voice was mild, but the (extremely odd) undertone of concern was obvious. Peter grimaced as he thought about it. No way could he let Mister Stark know that Spider-Man couldn’t handle a school bully. 

_________________________

Peter gazed out the window silently the rest of the drive. He was, of course, adding up every number he saw (on street signs, advertisements, and such) but a larger portion of his brain power was being spent on how to frame whatever story he was going to come up with to explain his injuries. So far he’d thought that maybe he could say something about getting hit was something in gym class. Like a basketba- crap, that sign had a nine on it. Peter stopped planning until he saw a sign with the number one, then resumed his train of thought. A basketball could explain a black eye maybe, but not a bruised shin or ribs. Maybe if he cleaned up his face a bit he could hide any other injuries on the rest of his body. He looked out the window a bit longer until he saw a sign where the numbers added up to twenty (couldn’t end on a bad note), then, peeking at where Happy sat and seeing he was fully focused on the road, Peter unzipped his backpack and pulled out a pack of wet wipes. Opening the camera on his phone he flipped it to selfie mode and grabbed a wipe. After he stole one last glance at the front seat, Peter cautiously began to clean the dried blood off his face. There was a cut on his right temple that had apparently bled quite a lot; the blood had further obscured the vision of the swollen eye beneath the cut. It was painful and took awhile, but Peter finally had the side of his face clean. Next he tackled the split lip he thought he could remember getting from one of the few kicks that caught his face. 

Even after all his efforts, Peter had to acknowledge that it still looked like he’d been beat up, just now he was a bit cleaner which admittedly immensely soothed his anxiety. He’d folded up the wipes he’d used in a few clean ones and put them in the ziploc he always had to hold anything gross until he could throw it away. After using twenty five pumps of hand sanitizer (discreetly of course, hiding his hands just barely inside his backpack), Peter finally relaxed back a bit on the seat. Of course, they were just pulling into the private underground garage at the tower but Peter was no end thankful that he’d managed to decontaminate himself before seeing Mister Stark. 

Happy pulled into a parking space and stopped the car. Peter waited as he walked around to open the door, then got out and followed him to the elevator. They stood in silence, and Peter was so glad because he could feel his anxiety increasing tenfold. He was pretty sure it looked odd but Peter couldn’t help drawing his arms tightly across his chest in a weird self-hug, grasping just behind his shoulders with a desperate strength, like he could hold himself together even if he was falling apart. His eyes were downcast and he found himself mentally walking through every possible scenario he could think of for when he got to Mister Stark’s lab. Hopefully something would go alright for him today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Peter! He really gets the short end of the stick a lot. Mister Stark interactions next chapter and it will at least start from his point of view :) Irondad is literally my favorite thing on the planet and I legitimately randomly cry multiple times a week thinking about the relationship. I was going to hold off on the comfort and put Peter through more suffering before getting support but I'm impatient. Also, MJ is here as more than an offhanded mention! I love her, and I feel her lack of a social circle just fits better with the isolated state I've put Peter in. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wouldn’t say there was anything funny about this.” Tony’s tone was dry. “And a basketball thrown by some snot nosed high school teen caught Spider-Man off guard?” The incredulity was perfectly obvious in his tone and, yeah, maybe it was a bit blunt, but Tony was kind of super freaking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to get this out! No trigger warnings besides disappointment at the length and content of this chapter.

Tony was freaking out just a bit. Today was the kid’s first internship day (least he could do, he royally screwed the pooch with Peter the first time around) and he’d been prepared with some projects. Just some general SI tech updates he wanted to use to put Peter through his paces, but also web shooter updates and maybe even some instruction on the Iron Man suit. He’d explained to Pepper what he was doing with the kid the night before as they talked a few scheduling details and she’d had the audacity to laugh at him. And then she said it was super sweet and she loved seeing him happy and hopeful about something. So Tony kind of had mixed feelings. But, screw it all, he was excited about spending time with Peter. The kid just had a way of… infecting Tony with good feelings. Not at all good for his image, probably very good for his emotional health. 

So, when Happy sent a text saying they were headed up in the elevator now but that Peter was pretty beat up and kind of zoned out, Tony sort of freaked. He immediately told Friday to redirect the elevator to the penthouse floor and also slow its ascent so he could dash up there. He went to the kitchen and found a first aid kit in one of the cabinets, then sat on a barstool at the island counter to wait for Happy and Peter. 

The elevator arrived a minute after he sat down and Tony turned towards it. 

“Oh my stars Peter! What the heck happened?” Tony jumped up and crossed the room to Peter in a few steps. He gingerly cupped the boy’s chin with one hand and turned his head back and forth to inspect it. Tony let out a strained hiss when he saw the cut on Peter’s temple. Any hope that Tony had that this had been from a patrol or something was dashed. No way would the injuries be this fresh, there was still blood dried in his hair and the black eye seemed to still be swelling. Not that patrol had really been a viable explanation since Peter hadn’t even worn the suit since Tony had returned it. He’d been planning to bring that up today but he was pretty sure this was a bigger deal. 

Placing his hand on Peter’s back, Tony led him over to the island. He glanced back once at Happy and nodded. He had this. Happy replied in kind and turned to head back down. Tony gently pressed on Peter’s shoulders to get him to sit on a barstool, then grabbed the first aid kit. Nothing was still bleeding but if it’d make himself feel better to put a bandaid on what he could, Tony was going to do that. However, just as he had pulled out a bandaid and was opening it, Peter grabbed his wrist. He hadn’t spoken yet and Tony felt a small surge of relief when he did, though it was followed by confusion. 

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-where do you keep that? The kit?” Tony was puzzled by the point of the question but he answered readily enough. 

“In here, that open cabinet.” He indicated the door he’d left swung open in his haste. Peter instantly relaxed a bit, the visible tensity in his shoulders easing. 

“So not, like, a restroom?” Peter’s gaze was fixed on his knees. 

Tony replied, his brows furrowing, “No. I’m sure I have one in a bathroom, though. I could find—”

“No!” Peter’s panicked gasp cut him off abruptly. “I mean, this is good. Totally good.” Tony squinted at him for a moment. There was something going on he didn’t understand, that much was obvious. But Peter was right in front of him in immediate physical pain and that fact was slowly starting to make the panic roar louder and louder in Tony’s ears, so he shelved the odd interaction in his mind and opened the bandage. 

“Pete-” Tony cut himself off, unsure exactly how to approach the subject. He’d put the bandaid on Peter’s temple but there weren’t really any other injuries Tony could do anything for, they’d just need time to heal. Maybe ice and pain medication. 

“I’m okay, Mister Stark. Nothing my healing won’t fix up super fast.” Peter grinned at Tony but it did absolutely nothing to lift his spirits. The expression was tinged with sadness and it accentuated Peter’s split lip. “I got hit with a basketball in gym. I hit my temple on the bleachers falling down and bit my lip. Apparently today was a comedy of errors.”

“I wouldn’t say there was anything funny about this.” Tony’s tone was dry. “And a basketball thrown by some snot nosed high school teen caught Spider-Man off guard?” The incredulity was perfectly obvious in his tone and, yeah, maybe it was a bit blunt, but Tony was kind of super freaking out. He was so out of his depth here, Tony would be one of the first to admit he couldn’t even care for himself. Looking at Peter and his beat up face, Tony couldn’t even begin to imagine how to go about this. His story was obviously a pile of crap. As Tony had expressed, it was implausible and Peter had sounded as if he were reading from a script as he told it. The injuries were clearly from being attacked and Tony knew from the fact that Peter had come straight to the tower from school and his own knowledge of how awful teenagers were that it was pretty possible this was a result of bullying. But Tony was nothing if not a procrastinator and he really did want to go about this tactfully, so he changed the subject. 

“Well, I’d say the lab’s not maybe the best option if your vision’s been reduced to one eye for the time being. Depth perception’s important for tinkering. What d’you say we order take out and watch a movie?

“A movie?” Peter was completely nonplussed. “You want to watch a movie with me?” And, oh, if that didn’t make Tony’s heart ache he didn’t know what could. 

“Yeah kiddo. Can’t think of anything I’d like more. Time with my favorite spider-kid doing something absolutely non-work related? Heaven on earth. We can even put on Star Wars and you can suffer through me asking you questions every other minute.” That drew a laugh out of Peter. A slightly choked chuckle, but it was the best thing Tony had heard all day. Seriously, this kid was going to be the death of his cool reputation. 

“Joke’s on you, I like explaining Star Wars.” Peter smirked at Tony, who had started towards the living room adjacent to the kitchen. “So every part of this situation is a win for me.” 

Tony collapsed on the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Come sit down before I change my mind. How does pizza sound?” 

“Pizza sounds good.” Tony watched as Peter made his way to the couch. He paused at the edge of the room and seemed to teeter back and forth on his heels before coming to sit down. Although he knew it was nothing personal, Tony couldn’t help the pang he felt in his chest at how clearly uncomfortable Peter still was with him. Not wanting to make anything worse by putting Peter on the spot, Tony ignored the fact and instead spoke to Friday.

“Fri, place an order for pizza from Jessie’s Pies, will you? Meat lovers for me and,” Tony turned to Peter.

“Oh, um, m-m-m-m-maybe just cheese?” Peter glanced at Tony as though he thought the man might refuse him, but he just smiled.

“Alright, one meat lovers, one cheese, and two of their black cherry sodas.”

“Sound’s good, boss.” Friday paused for a second, then confirmed that the orders had been placed. 

“Thanks, doll.”

Peter snorted, “Did you just call Friday ‘doll’? How old are you?”

“Hey! I resent that statement!” Tony tried to look affronted but he broke down and grinned within a few seconds of seeing the happiness and mirth on Peter’s face. Dang it, this kid was making him go soft. “Put on Star Wars, Friday. Whichever one the kid wants.”

Peter looked taken aback at being asked. “We could, uh, could you- um, I mean, A New Hope?”

He sounded so nervous, like people would be upset at him for having an opinion. Tony’s heart broke. “A New Hope it is, Fri!” The movie instantly cued up on the massive flatscreen and Tony settled back on the couch. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached over to where Peter was sitting stiffly next to him and patted his arm. “C’mere, Underoos. It can’t be comfortable to sit up like that for a whole movie.” When Peter started to relax and lean back, Tony maneuvered him a little so his head was near Tony’s shoulder, just in case he started to nod off. Tony realized he was holding his breath, like there would be some sort of rejection. However, Peter merely snuggled up even closer, seeming to drink in the affection. And the warm feeling in Tony’s chest was most definitely nothing parental. No, not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! It's been a bit, I've had a super weird sort of time emotionally the past bit and spent quite a lot of it in varying degrees of dissociation so I don't even have a real handle on how long it's been, but I'm back! I don't love this chapter at all, but I do love Irondad and I am really excited for the next chapter. I've felt like maybe I was moving too fast plot-wise with how Peter's mental illness is becoming visible, but then I was like 'no, he's hidden this his whole life it'd make sense that when he develops a close relationship with someone else with mental health issues that he'd be starting to lose control over his mask of stability'. So, yeah. 
> 
> Also, unrelated to this story at all but I was just talking about this because it was my birthday (subtle attention grab that makes me feel bad) and no one could tell me to shut up about the MCU without sounding extra rude. When I watched Iron Man 3 the first time and saw Tony have a panic attack I almost cried. I know there are films and literature and stuff where mental illness is represented and represented well, but it was the first time I saw someone in a regular, non-specifically mental illness related movie have mental illness that was accurate and actually an IMPACT ON THEIR LIFE!!!!! Idk it just made me perversely happy. Also, if any of you are interested in OCD from my depiction of it and want a good reference that is written by a real author, read OCDaniel by Wesley King. He also has OCD and his book is based on his experience. I almost cried reading that as well.
> 
> All the love!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter couldn’t pay more attention to Mister Stark at this point. His head was spinning, the world was distorted and strangely surreal, like a Dali painting. His legs were numb to the point where they could’ve fallen off and Peter didn’t think he would have noticed. It was like a cord was in his chest, a noose on the end looping around his lungs and quickly drawing tighter and tighter until, soon, they wouldn’t be able to expand at all. There was a pressure under his skin, like he was being pumped with air and it was straining at the confines of his body and soon he’d burst like a balloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey wonderful humans! First things first:
> 
> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING:  
> Self-harm (fairly graphic)  
> Self-injury during a panic attack  
> Consequentially, panic attacks
> 
> Also, I'm quite happy with this chapter but at the same time I've been reminded yet again how annoying being a person who at least mildly dissociates half the time is when trying to write something. I'm sorry for any inconsistencies because I legitimately can't remember most of the time what I actually last wrote and what was stuff I just considered. And I go back and try to refresh my memory but then I sometimes don't really even remember the details of the beginning of what I read. So it's all around super fun. And I felt I should make the disclaimer that I do not have a dissociative disorder, I dissociate in conjunction with depression and anxiety disorders and my experience is mercifully pretty mild. 
> 
> I wrote this out manually in a journal before typing it up (is it weird I love the sound of pen on paper?) and so it was actually finished yesterday but is just getting posted now :)

When Peter woke up he felt an innate sense of out of place-ness. He could tell he wasn’t in his bedroom in Queens, the space felt too open. Fighting off the remaining heaviness of sleep, Peter opened his eyes and shifted himself into a slightly more upright position.

‘Oh my gosh…’ Peter couldn’t even finish a thought. He was still in Mister Stark’s penthouse, having apparently fallen asleep on the couch. Not only that, he saw when he rolled his head to the side that he had fallen asleep snuggled up against Tony Stark. Despite his internal freak out, Peter couldn’t help the peaceful feeling he got around Mister Stark. It did his nerves some good to realize Mister Stark’s head was also nestled right above Peter’s so that it was easy to see they’d both been leaning on each other in sleep. 

Peter wished he could bottle up this feeling and have it always on him, but, as he was only too aware, good things never last. 

It happened when he turned to look at a clock on the wall to the left of himself. At first, all Peter noticed was the astonishing length of time he managed to stay asleep. It was twelve thirty-six in the morning. Then his brain caught up to what that meant.

‘Oh no, oh crap. No… bad numbers, really really bad numbers. At least there’s no nine in- Idiot! You complete idiot, you just thought it! Oh my gosh, what am I going to do?’ 

As Peter’s thoughts raced, he felt an itching sensation and phantom pains on his left forearm. 

‘Oh frick, no I can’t, no, no not as Mister Stark’s house. But… it helps… I need to get the badness out somehow. And I actually added one of the bad numbers in my head on my own this time. It wasn’t forced on me, I just suck as a person, just utterly horrible, I can’t do anything good. Bad person, thought something bad on purpose. No one gets how bad I am, May or Mister Stark definitely won’t help me get punishment. They don’t see how much I deserve it… deserve it, yeah. So awful, horrible, awful, terrible. I can’t… I know how to make myself pay. I need to pay. Balance the scales…’

Before Peter was even fully cognizant of what he was doing, he’d extricated himself from Mister Stark and the couch and was walking towards his backpack. He’d left it in the kitchen, he supposed when he first came in. When he found it, Peter silently snak to his knees and moved to open the bag. His hands were shaking and when he fumbled with the zipper on his first attempt, Peter got caught in a loop of grabbing the zipper, letting go, and grabbing it again. About fifteen minutes went by before Peter managed to yank the zipper back and reach into the backpack. He had a second pencil pouch he kept on his person at all times; a safety net for situations just like this one. 

Peter stumbled back to his feet, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the underside of the island counter. Now that he was focused on a task Peter’s thoughts had slowed enough to allow him to plan his next movements. Obviously he couldn’t hide himself away in a restroom, that would defeat the whole decontaminating purpose of cutting if he were only to then contaminate the outside of him. Maybe there was a storage closet… 

Peter wandered into the hallway that led out away from the dining and living room area, but he paused at the threshold to, once again, step back and forth between the different floor surfaces. 

“May I help you, Peter?” Friday’s voice caught Peter guard and he misstepped. 

“No, thanks Friday. I just…” As he continued stepping back and forth, Peter lost any concentration he had put towards responding. He finally was able to step fully into the hallway and only then remembered Friday’s question.

“Oh, uh, thanks… um, do you know somewhere quiet I can go?” 

“Would you like to see the room Boss had prepared for you?”

That got Peter’s attention. “I have a room? Mister Stark made a room for me?”

“Indeed, Peter,” Friday’s voice managed to sound pleased and Peter for the billionth time marveled at Mister Stark’s skill with AIs. “If you follow the hallway, your room is the second to last door on the right side.”

Still a bit in shock that he had a room in Tony Stark’s tower, Peter made his way to the indicated door and opened it, making sure his sleeve fully covered his had before touching the knob. If he was more aware, Peter would have paid more attention to the insane awesomeness of his room. As it was, he barely noticed the posters, different themed LEGO sets, and the Spider-Man bedding. Those were in fact the only things he registered as he walked over to the closet and opened it. Again, Peter only had the presence of mind to notice the clothes already hanging in the closet as a small miracle that helped to a balance between his need to be somewhere small and secure and his claustrophobia. 

Peter slid down the wall of the closet and, once seated with his knees to his chest, pulled the clothes so they just framed his body but allowed him to see out the open closet door. 

“Ok. Ok, Peter. You got this, you know how to do this.” Peter muttered to himself as he opened the pencil pouch and removed one of his blades. Quickly, he pulled the sweatshirt he was wearing over his head and cast it to the side. With a single shaky exhale, Peter held his arm out and touched the blade to a clear patch of skin. 

‘Alright, keep count. You won’t be accomplishing anything by cutting the wrong number of times. Good, good… that’s five strokes in this spot but the last one, the pressure was heavier. Even that out.’

Peter concentrated. The blood bubbling up went unnoticed as he tried to get it right.

‘Ok, you’ve evened that out but you’ve done fifteen which isn’t the best number, so let’s get to twenty-five with this spot. That’ll be- crap! You really are a screw up, huh? You couldn’t even finish that set correctly. Next perfect number is fifty and you’d better get there. Alright… ok, almost got it. Fifty! You managed not to completely ruin something one time in your miserable life you pathetic, worthless, vile, disgusting piece of human scum. I think you need to go for another cut. Get to fifty again this time, Parker. You know there are no perfect numbers between fifty and one hundred, and for this to work at getting rid of the bad numbers only perfect ones will do.

Peter was about to start the next cut, he’d taken a minute to plan his next steps while also soaking up some blood with one of his gauze pads. However, his trance-like state was interrupted before he could get that far. 

“-ter? Peter, if you do not respond immediately I must let Boss know you are in distress.” 

Friday. That was Friday. That was Friday, Tony Stark’s AI and Peter had just had a breakdown in Tony Stark’s home and self harmed in Tony Stark’s home and, oh gosh it was still bleeding and he could definitely see the yellow bubbles of fat that indicated just how deep he’d gone and Friday, Tony Stark’s AI, had asked him something and he needed to answer, and—

“-lerted Boss, he will be there shortly. Peter, you need to breathe. 

He wasn’t breathing? Peter tried to exhale but found his jaw was clenched so tight he had to exert major force just to open his mouth. When he did, Peter found himself quickly sucking in air, then his breaths sped up until he could barely distinguish one from the next. Just as Peter heard footsteps and the door opening, he began to softly thump his head against the wall of the closet. The intensity of this also quickly increased and it was only a few seconds before a trickle of blood began making its way down the side of his head.

“Oh my goodness, Peter! Peter, stop, you’re hurting yourself!” 

That was Mister Stark’s voice. Peter stopped with great difficulty and looked toward the closet doorway. Indeed, Mister Stark was kneeling there, a look of utter horror on his face. The slightly delayed realization hit Peter that Mister Stark was seeing his breakdown and the wave of humiliation that washed over him had Peter bashing his head even harder as well as reaching up to claw at his neck and the collar of his shirt. The tensing of muscles in his arm caused the blood from Peter’s self-injury to flow faster. Judging by the gasp that came from Mister Stark, he’d most likely just noticed the injury. 

Peter couldn’t pay more attention to Mister Stark at this point. His head was spinning, the world was distorted and strangely surreal, like a Dali painting. His legs were numb to the point where they could’ve fallen off and Peter didn’t think he would have noticed. It was like a cord was in his chest, a noose on the end looping around his lungs and quickly drawing tighter and tighter until, soon, they wouldn’t be able to expand at all. There was a pressure under his skin, like he was being pumped with air and it was straining at the confines of his body and soon he’d burst like a balloon. 

Even when Mister Stark grabbed his wrists and pulled Peter from the closet; even when a piece of clothing was grabbed at random from a hanger and pressed to Peter’s arm; even when Peter heard Mister Stark shouting something to Friday, followed after a period of a few minutes by footsteps running towards where Peter was now cradled in Mister Stark’s lap. Peter’s arms were crossed tightly in front of himself with the bleeding one still wrapped up and Mister Stark’s stronger grip keeping them in place. His back was against Mister Stark’s chest and Peter felt the vibrations of rather than heard the soothing noises the man was making. Peter felt vaguely that someone must be sobbing nearby because the sound was very loud and the confusion of everything had him futilely slamming the back of his head over and over into Mister Stark’s chest. Through all of this, Peter was barely able to control any of his actions. When he found himself a bit more aware, Peter was being wheeled along on a gurney, Mister Stark clutching his hand and jogging along beside him. 

“Hey, spider-baby, you seeing me? Stay here, bambino, you’re doing so good.” Mister Stark’s voice had a desperate note of pleading in it but, as much as he wanted to, Peter couldn’t stay focused. His gaze slowly rolled to the ceiling and fixed itself there. Peter didn’t close his eyes but he remained in a state of total detachment until he felt the prick of a needle in his arm. At that, his eyes did fall closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Irondad and do not worry because he will be making a major appearance next chapter! I'm undecided if the part in Peter's or Tony's POV will go first but I'm really looking forward to living vicariously through this fic. I had a dream last night I met RDJ and read part of my essay on the relation between Tony Stark and Iron Man and how they're the same person and people who list them as separate entities with Iron Man being better than Tony Stark don't have a basic knowledge of how anything in the world works and he cried. That was fun. 
> 
> Serious note: 
> 
> I LOVE Aunt May but in this she's going to kind of have a reaction more like my parents/people in my life with less understanding and tolerance and more of a "this is fixable now" reaction. 
> 
> Also, I'm unsure how I'll end this since currently I have no idea what writing an ending where Peter is even majorly recovered would look like and I actually get anxious just thinking about writing about Peter ignoring compulsions/obsessive thoughts because so many of his are modeled on my own. 
> 
> And finally, any and all Star Wars knowledge in this is coming from my younger brother and my dad because they're fans but space terrifies me. I think I referenced them watching A New Hope last chapter?? but that was purely because I asked my brother to name a good one of the films.
> 
> You all are so lovely and your comments bring such a smile to my face! I wish you all well and hope that you have safety and if even that is out of reach at the moment I hope for a feeling of strength for you guys :) Lots of love!


End file.
